


Your Voice

by MsThunderFrost



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Fingering, BDSM, Blindfolds, Bondage, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dom/sub, Edgeplay, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Gentle Dom Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Hand Jobs, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Praise Kink, Safe Sane and Consensual, Safewords, Voice Kink, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:47:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24033784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsThunderFrost/pseuds/MsThunderFrost
Summary: For the prompt:Geralt ties Jaskier up naked, blindfolds him and then edges him. Jaskier really gets off on Geralt talking close to his ear, with his hands on him.Jaskier cums multiple times, but there's a lot of Edging in between them and they love it.Bonus for a little end bit about the aftercare from responsible dom Geralt
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 6
Kudos: 447
Collections: Witcher Kink Meme (Dreamwidth)





	Your Voice

“Hmm,” Geralt slides a finger in alongside the knot of the silk kerchief that binds Jaskier’s left ankle to the bedpost and gives a gentle tug, “...not too tight?” 

It takes Jaskier a moment to find his voice. This is not unusual, and while Geralt is not ordinarily a patient man, he finds that he has no desire to press Jaskier for his answer. It will come in due time… Until then, he occupies himself with swirling his fingers over the delicate arch of Jaskier’s foot as he focuses on the steady  _ thumping _ of his heart.

Jaskier is… calm. Despite the heady undercurrent of arousal that warms his scent, there is not an inkling of tension to be found anywhere in his body. He trust in Geralt is total－even when his vision is obscured by a makeshift blindfold, he knows that no harm will befall him whilst he is in the Witcher’s care. The corner of Geralt’s mouth twitches upward in what could almost be considered a smile at the thought.

After awhile, Jaskier delicately rolls his ankle, before giving a soft hum of approval. “Perfect.”

“Good.” He smiles fully this time, “You remember your word?” A nod, followed by a barely-there whisper of ‘djinn’. “Such a perfect little lark… And what do you do if you cannot say the word?”

Jaskier closes his hand into a fist and obediently wraps his knuckles against the headboard twice in quick succession. Geralt lavishes him in soft praise, gently running his short nails down Jaskier’s exposed sides. The bard shudders, his soft, petal-pink lips falling open as a breathless whimper catches in his throat. His back bends into a beautiful arch as Geralt’s hands work their way back up, teasing over his sensitive ribs to settle alongside his pecs.

He studies his bardling for a moment, contemplative. The bard’s cock is already half-hard, the sensitive organ flushed and leaking against his soft belly. He’d gotten more than a bit worked up from their earlier fumblings, but Geralt had slowly, carefully backed him down from the edge, loving the delicious little sounds the bard made as his orgasm was wrenched from his grasp. He’s not close, but he’s  _ sensitive _ －his entire body primed like a live wire.

Geralt sits for a moment longer, thinking… and then he reaches up, dragging the calloused tips of his fingers along Jaskier’s chest. He traces lazy patterns along Jaskier’s baby smooth skin, reveling in the steady  _ thump-thump _ of the bard’s heart pounding away inside of his rib-cage. His pale flesh is flushed, and slick with a thin veneer of sweat.  _ Beautiful _ , he thinks, as he slowly rolls his thumb over one dusky nipple.

“You know, little lark… You were  _ extraordinarily _ well-behaved on this last contract. You didn’t even fuss when I told you to stay behind in the room…” he rolls Jaskier’s nipple between his thumb and forefinger idly, “And I think that such obedience ought to be…  _ rewarded _ .”

Jaskier seems to perk up a bit at that, “Y-Yes.  _ Please _ , sir…” 

Geralt uncorks a small vial of almond oil, drizzling the clear, sweetly scented liquid over his fingers. He trails his wet fingers along the length of Jaskier’s cock, “I’ve noticed something particularly  _ interesting _ about you as of late. Would you like to know what that is?”

Jaskier’s back arches up off of the bed, his hips chasing the phantom-like caress of Geralt’s fingers. He isn’t able to make it very far, even though his binds aren’t particularly tight. “S-Sir…?”

“...I think you  _ like _ the sound of my voice.” He mumbles, lips curling into a sly little grin when Jaskier’s cock gives a telling  _ lurch _ . “I think you like it  _ a lot _ .” 

Jaskier shudders, words catching in the back of his throat as sword-calloused fingers close around his cock and give it a slow tug, “Y-Yes…  _ yes _ … Y-Your voice,  _ gods _ …”

Geralt’s hand begins to move, working back and forth in slow, easy strokes. His free hand circles Jaskier’s hip, his thumb rubbing soothing circles into the smaller man’s baby smooth skin. It’s still difficult, at times, for him to bring himself to speak for extended periods of time, even with Jaskier, so he doesn’t try for full sentences. The filth that spills over his lips is all stream-of-consciousness, simple observations of how pretty Jaskier looks sprawled out beneath him, how  _ perfect _ he is and how  _ good _ he’s being, how he plans to make his pretty little lark  _ sing _ …

Jaskier’s face is flushed, his kiss-swollen lips parted and  _ glittering _ as he tries and fails to bring his brain online long enough to form words. Geralt shushes him gently, raising a hand and pressing three thick fingers into Jaskier’s mouth. Just this once, Geralt can do the talking for both of them. Jaskier moans, messily working his tongue over Geralt’s digits, relishing in the unmistakable tang of salt on his tongue. He rocks his hips into Geralt’s hand as much as he can, breathing  _ hard _ through his nose and making a right-proper mess of both himself and Geralt.

There’s a sharp change in his scent as he nears his peak. Geralt brings him close, attentive to the way Jaskier’s body  _ sings _ beneath him, and just as he is about to reach completion… he withdraws his hand. Jaskier chokes back a sob as his hips rock upward into nothingness, so close to release he can  _ taste _ it on the tip of his tongue. The Witcher grins, petting his sides ever so lightly as Jaskier’s breath slowly calms and his heart rate returns to normal…

That makes two ruined orgasms in the span of a half-hour.  _ Fuck _ .

“Such a good little lark…” Geralt coos, drawing his fingers from between Jaskier’s lips and replacing them with something cool and metallic. “Take a few sips for me… That’s it…”

He obediently takes a few swallows of cool, fresh water, before rasping, “A-Again?  _ Please _ , Sir… I can… I c-can…  _ more _ .” He tries to reach for Geralt, only to remember, belatedly, that his hands are bound. A soft whimper works it’s way from between kiss-swollen lips.

“Shh…” Geralt lazily twines his fingers with Jaskier’s, shifting so that he’s straddling the smaller man’s waist, “Breathe for me. Nice and easy…” he hums, voice soft as he begins to lazily work his free hand over the contours of Jaskier’s chest. 

After what felt like an eternity, Geralt’s hand wanders between Jaskier’s legs once more, Sword-calloused fingers teasingly stroke over hyper-sensitive flesh, easily bringing him back to a state of full hardness in a matter of moments. Jaskier’s breath stutters in his throat, his toes curling as warm tendrils of bliss work their way up from the base of his spine. Geralt is speaking again, but he cannot quite make out what it is that he’s saying. But that’s okay, because the specific  _ words _ aren’t what’s important. 

It’s the sound of his voice… Fuck, he could make even the most boring and mundane topics in the world seem absolutely  _ riveting _ with his voice alone. Jaskier can’t get enough of the sound of it. Whether Geralt is growling, yelling in anger, moaning in pleasure… or even as he is now, murmuring gentle words of praise as he tenderly holds Jaskier’s hand… he wants  _ more _ . He wants to drown in his Witcher, in everything he’d so willingly offer.

“Fuck.  _ Fuck _ !” That sinfully talented hand starts working him over faster, the air filled with the resounding  _ schlip _ of wet flesh gliding over wet flesh, “So close… fuck, S-Sir…  _ please _ let me cum.  _ Please _ …”

“Alright.” Geralt concedes easily. Too easily. “Cum for me, darling.” 

It takes a few more pumps of that glorious hand, but all too soon Jaskier is cumming, a slew of nonsense spilling over his lips as he paints Geralt’s hand, and his lower belly, with his seed. Geralt hums softly, withdrawing his hand when Jaskier’s cock becomes too sensitive to handle any further attention… and with an exaggerated  _ slurp _ , licks Jaskier’s essence from his skin. Jaskier swallows hard, telling himself that it’s  _ too soon _ , even as he feels his cock give an excited little twitch as his mind’s eye helpfully recreates the image the blindfold has robbed him of.

Geralt’s liquid amber eyes glistening in the low light of the lantern, his long, silver-white hair in a perfect state of disarray, a few strands clinging to his face as beads of sweat pool along his brow. That long, utterly sinful tongue poking out between thick, full lips to clean the pearly-white drops of cum that drip between his fingers and down his palm…  _ Fuck _ .

“Already?” Geralt hums, amusement coloring his tone. He doesn’t touch him, not quite yet, but Jaskier hears the cork  _ pop  _ on the bottle of oil and can guess what is to come well enough.

Jaskier shifts a little, spreading his legs as much as his binds will allow… Color rises in his cheeks when Geralt playfully mutters something about the bard being ‘pent-up’, gently swatting at one firm ass check before… “H-Holy… Melitele’s  _ tits _ , but that is cold!”

“Shh…” Geralt’s hand withdraws momentarily to warm the oil between his palms, before his fingers are tracing along the cleft of his ass, gently probing between his cheeks until－

“ _ Hnn _ …” Jaskier’s back arches as one deliciously thick finger probes at his puckered entrance, slowly but surely easing its way inside of him.  _ So good _ …

His hands are slow, methodical… they work Jaskier back up to the brink with the slow, careful precision of the doting lover Jaskier knows Geralt to be. But for Jaskier, whose body is still thrumming from the thrill of his last orgasm, everything－every brush of calloused fingers against his soft, velvety walls, every caress of lightly chapped lips over his sweat-slick skin, every puff of warm breath as Geralt whispers a myriad of praise and filth into his ear－it’s positively  _ electrifying _ . Every last nerve in Jaskier’s body is alight with his lover’s touch, and it’s both  _ not enough _ and  _ far too much _ and… and… gods, he doesn’t even know what he wants, what he  _ needs _ anymore…

Geralt, thankfully, does. And soon, Jaskier is split wide on two fingers… three… with  _ four _ of Geralt’s fingers inside of him, the promise of sweet release so blessedly close, and growing ever closer each time those calloused fingers prod and press and massage his prostate. And then－

Geralt draws back, and Jaskier moans as his mounting desire begins to ebb away once more… “ _ Fuck _ …” he exhales heavily, squirming beneath Geralt’s massive frame, so very desparate for  _ more _ . 

Geralt licks his lips, “Oh, did you want to cum again?” He hums. Jaskier can almost imagine the smug look on his face as his hands work their way up Jaskier’s firm thighs, his fingers dancing dangerously close to where he so desperately needs his touch but never  _ quite _ making it all the way there. 

A burst of cool air  _ explodes _ over his cock. Is… Is Geralt  _ blowing _ on his tip.  _ Holy mother of _ －”S-Sir!”

“Hmm… such a shame, you see… the first orgasm was free.” Geralt’s plump lips press against the outer shell of his ear, “This next one, I’m going to make you work for.” A shiver chases down Jaskier’s spine as Geralt presses a tender kiss to the scruff along his jaw.

It’s going to be a long night.

* * *

“How do you feel?” Geralt asks as he rubs a bit of Jaskier’s fancy cream (with lavender, shea butter, and coconut oil－along with a myriad of other ingredients Geralt hadn’t bothered to remember onto the bard’s chaffed wrists). “Fingers? Toes? Arms? Legs? Cock?” Jaskier hums affirmatively to each question. He feels  _ amazing _ .

“‘m good.” He slurs, leaning heavily on Geralt’s side. “Jus’... very tired.” The bard’s eyes are clear and, after a bit of stretching, he’s able to move easily. He feeds him a few pieces of dark chocolate and a handful of dried berries, and makes sure he takes a few more swallows of water before nodding off－

“Rest now, little lark. You did－,” Geralt’s amber eyes widen slightly as Jaskier clambers onto his lap and settles down, thighs straddling Geralt’s waist and head resting on his broad chest. “...You are absolutely, one-hundred percent going to regret sleeping like this come morning.”

“Hnn…” if the steadily growing wet-spot on his shirt is any indication, Jaskier, his resident drool monster, is now well and truly dead to the world. He sighs.

“I guess this will be fine. If only for a little while.” He whispers, pressing a kiss to the bard’s temple, before carefully shifting them over into a more comfortable position. 

Somehow, they still ended up with Jaskier sprawled out overtop of his Witcher, drooling on his chest while looking utterly content. And you know what… that’s okay. 


End file.
